


Payback

by zetuslapetus



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, updated to non con to be safe low key prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetuslapetus/pseuds/zetuslapetus
Summary: Beth takes one for the team and pays Rio back what the girls owe ... with other assets.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 76
Kudos: 338





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not gonna lie, this is just an excuse to write porn. K.

He comes back to collect on a Tuesday. 

Beth’s alone at home and loading the dishwasher when she sees him at the picnic table. He’s dressed in black, flanked by two guys.  There’s no use in running or fighting it, so she opens the door and waits. When he’s inside, she hands his man a box of cereal and points inside when he shoots her a confused look. 

One of his men counts it, twice. He gives Rio a quick shake of the head.

They’re short. She’s well aware. 

Rio looks at her, jaw set.

“Call your girls.”

She’s the only one seated, and she has to look up at him to keep his eye-line when he steps closer. 

“No.” Her insides shake but her voice is steady. The three fingers of bourbon she downed with breakfast helps. 

One of his brows shoots up.

“Come again?” He says quietly.

“ _No_. This isn’t their fault, it was my idea.” 

Her posture is perfect, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded in her lap. She looks picturesque.

“Okay,” he nods, “ _ You’re _ short, Elizabeth.” 

How her hands don’t physically shake is beyond her.

“I know.” A moment of silence passes, then she’s speaking again. “I can’t pay you back, not with money, at least.” 

He shakes his head, confused, opens his mouth to speak then stops when she moves. Very carefully, she unwraps her ankles and spreads her knees. 

His eyes drop to her thighs then immediately snap back up to her face. 

_ She’s lost it. _

He gives her a curious look, tilts his head as if he's studying her. He doesn’t respond, just lets her words hang in the air for a moment. Gives her a chance to roll the last ten seconds back.

She responds with a lift of her chin, defiant.

“Show me.” He says. 

The skirt she’s wearing falls right above her knees, too long for him to see anything while she’s seated.  Her stare falters at his words, eyes shift to the guy standing over Rio’s shoulder.

She gives him a quick shake of her head.

“Not here.” 

Not with  _ them _ .

He doesn’t say a word, just looks over his shoulder, and nods once. Within seconds the two men are shuffling out of her kitchen, through the parlor, and then she hears the distinct sound of her front door open and close.

“Show me,” he says again and she stands. Breath shaking, she slips her hands beneath her skirt and pulls her panties down. They fall to her knees and with a shuffle of her legs drop at her feet.

She steps out of them.

He hasn’t looked down yet, eyes still burning into hers.

Then she’s lifting her skirt in the middle of her kitchen. 

When he finally looks down a shiver wrecks through her. She keeps her eyes on him, catches the way his mouth parts, catches the tongue at the corner of his lip.

He slides a finger up her thigh and takes a step closer. He radiates warmth, and she thinks she can smell him.

His fingers glide further up her thigh, find their way between her legs until he’s sliding two fingers between her folds. She takes a sharp breath, head lulls slightly forwards at the pressure of his fingers against her entrance.

When he slips a finger inside of her her eyes snap shut. He pushes to the first knuckle, then the second and that’s when she realizes she’s wet. 

He must realize it too because he lets out a soft grunt. 

He pulls out briefly only to slide two back in. He cups her fully in his palm then he curls the fingers inside of her. The sensation rocks through her body, and she cries. 

His eyes snap to her face, to her mouth. 

She can’t control the noises coming out of her, every curl of his fingers shakes her. Her thighs quiver and he crowds her back against the kitchen table until she’s halfway sitting on it, holding herself up with both hands.  She comes with a scream, her thighs slam shut around his hand and she begs him to stop. 

He does, gives her a moment to stop shaking then he’s on top of her and she can’t breathe. She feels him against her clit first, the pressure makes the muscles in her belly jump. Then he’s pressing inside and she’s gasping for air. 

Her head falls against his shoulder and she sobs into his sweater when he bottoms out. She’d forgotten how much she liked  _ this _ , how good it felt to have a man inside of her. 

He’s got one palm on the table next to hers and the other beneath her knee. When he pulls out, his hips snap forward and the table shakes. He hikes her leg up to his torso, mouths at her ear, and fucks her into the dinner table. 

It doesn’t take long, between the stretch of him inside of her and the weight of his body against her, she comes so hard that she loses vision in the corner of her eyes. He slides a palm beneath her lower back, pulls her up into his body with ease, and comes inside of her with a soft groan.

Her thighs don’t stop shaking until he pulls out of her, until she’s back on the dinner table. 

When she speaks she doesn’t even recognize her voice. 

“Are we good?”

His mouth is wide open, breath still coming hard. 

“For a start,” he says. When he’s zipped up he gives her a nod. “I’ll be seeing you soon, yeah?” 

Then he’s gone. 

She scrubs the table twice, replays the memory so many times she loses count. 

_ For a start. _

What does that even mean? 

She finds out three days later when she receives a text from an unknown number. Just one word and her breath stutters, her nipples tighten to the point of pain. 

_ Outside _ . 

He’d come back, alone. 

He’s parked in front of her house in a black Cadillac, windows tinted to the point she’s sure it must be illegal. 

“I have neighbors,” she hisses when she’s inside the car. “You can’t just show up in the middle of the day.” 

He doesn’t respond, just stares at her with half-lidded eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept. 

He lets his eyes roam her body, across her chest then down her legs. She’s very conscious of the fact that she’s still wearing leggings and her breasts are strapped down in the most uncomfortable sports bra ever made. She’s still sweaty from the hot yoga class Annie dragged her to this morning.

“Take your pants off,” he says, gravely. It makes her stomach clench. She opens her mouth to protest then he’s speaking again. “I’ve had a long night so you can take your pants off and ride me or blow me, your choice,” he says. 

She wants to argue, ask him who he thinks he is but she can’t find the words. When she slips her fingers into the band of her legging he smirks. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

They come off easily. He slides his seat as far back as it goes and stretches his legs out. She rises on her knees, hooks a finger around her panties but he’s got her by the hips before she can pull them off.

“You can keep those on,” he says and lifts her in the small space. Her hands settle on his shoulders and then she’s in his lap. He slips his fingers into her panties then pauses. He pulls the material back and chuckles. 

“This for me?” 

She’d gone to the salon with Annie a few days ago and finally evened out the Brazilian from weeks back.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says and sinks down on him. 

She rides him in slow, lazy strokes. He hikes her t-shirt up to her chest and buries his nose in her cleavage.

“You smell good,” he groans and licks into the dip of her chest.

She smells like sweat. Like sex.

He’s gripping her thighs so hard she knows she’ll see bruises tomorrow. She keeps grinding against him, only lifting up the smallest amount then pushing back down, and he meets her thrust for thrust. 

Her thighs burn but she’s so close, so she grinds against him and picks up her pace. That’s the wrong move because he groans into her cleavage, bucks against her once, and comes. 

“Did you just - “ she huffs and he chuckles into her skin, face still nuzzling her breasts. He grabs her hips with both hands, gives her a squeeze, and pulls her off of him. “Are you kidding me?” she’s fuming. 

He tucks himself in, zips up, and gives her a quick nod.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

She pulls her leggings on and leaves him with a few choice words. She can still hear him laughing when she slams the car door shut. 

Who does he think he is? 

She takes a cold shower, has a drink, then drains the batteries in her vibrator before she can fall asleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A run-in with the PTA ends in the pantry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First - thank you for the love, I appreciate it so very much!   
> Second - this is just more porn, idk what to tell you.  
> Third - you can find me on Tumblr at querenaxx  
> Enjoy!

Days later she’s still fuming, she’s even got a speech prepared if he dares show his face again. 

She tells the girls he’d picked up the money, and that he hadn’t been happy about them shorting him but that nothing had happened. Annie shakes a little talking about it but doesn’t prod further. They drink and laugh for the first time in a long time, and Beth laughs too, finally exhaling. There’s an unsettled feeling in her gut, though, something she doesn’t recognize.

On Saturday morning she drops the kids off with Judith who corners her with another slick speech about what it means to be a mother and a wife - how women were born to sacrifice. By the time she’s done Beth’s jaw aches from grinding her teeth to keep her mouth shut. She meets the girls for brunch after. Annie keeps asking what she plans to do about Dean while Ruby scolds Annie for asking. 

“He has cancer, Annie. What am I supposed to do, serve him divorce papers while he’s hooked up to chemo?”

Ruby holds her hand for most of the lunch, and Annie reminds her how much she always hated Dean. 

She comes home to an empty house. The quiet is unsettling, so she distracts herself as best as she knows how. After laundry, she takes a bath and almost falls asleep in the tub. When she startles awake the water is cold. She wraps a towel around herself and heads downstairs to pour herself a drink, maybe grab a slice of the raspberry tart cooling on the stove. 

The tart is baked to perfection, so she cuts herself a decent size and grabs her favorite tumbler for her bourbon. She’s standing over the sink, the towel wrapped tight around her when it happens. She looks up out of the window above the sink, the one that overlooks the picnic table in the back and screams. He’s standing, not outside but right behind her. The reflection in the window is translucent but clear enough. When she screams, she drops her tumbler in the sink and it spins around the drain until it comes to rest in the center. 

“What is wrong with you?” She spins around, fuming. He’s leaning on the bookcase in the hallway leading into the kitchen, legs crossed, arms tucked in the pockets of his hoodie. “How did you get in?” She hisses, sure she’d locked the front door.

He smirks and gives her a casual shrug. Then he bounces off the bookcase and he’s walking towards her.  _ Stalking _ , more like. 

She takes a step backward but her bottom immediately hits the sink.  Then he’s coming around the island and she lifts her hand up, points a finger at him. She opens her mouth but for some reason, she can’t remember how her speech started. 

“You’re kidding me right, after last time - “ she begins but his fingers wrap around her wrist and she forgets what her point was. He gives her a soft tug and she comes easily, then his nose is in her neck and he hums against her skin. He’s warm, and he smells like alcohol. 

“You can’t just come in here, and expect me - “ She tries again but this time it’s his fingers that silence her. They slip underneath the towel and he finds the bundle of nerves at her core and presses. His fingers are dry, rough, but she’s still moist from her bath, and it’s perfect. With one step she’s pressed against the sink again, his body flush against hers. 

He works her clit until she’s gasping, bites kisses into her neck, doesn’t stop stroking her even after she comes. When it becomes too much she grabs his wrist and pulls his hand out. It’s too much, but her legs can’t stop trembling. He grabs the edge of the towel with wet fingers and tugs. The knot comes apart with ease, the towel pools at her feet, and then she’s completely naked in her kitchen. 

Her arm comes up almost immediately, the need to cover herself subconscious. He grabs one wrist, then the other. He shakes his head and gives her a sharp  _ tsk _ . Then he just stares. She can’t take her eyes off of his face, he looks pained. Mouth wide open, breath coming hard. His eyes are half-closed. He doesn’t touch her, his fingers still loosely wrapped around her wrists as he holds them by her side. Every few moments his fingers twitch around her wrists and she doesn’t know whether she wants to run or ask him to touch her. 

The throbbing between her legs is starting to ache, she feels herself clench around nothing, and then she does something stupid. She squeezes her thighs together, the pressure feels good but it’s not enough. Something about that snaps him into action and she sees his mouth snap shut, jaw tick before he spins her. She doesn’t expect it, it’s sudden and it pulls a yelp out of her. 

He drops her wrists and then he’s at her back, still clothed, hard against her lower back. She hears his zipper, the shuffle of clothing before he’s pushing against her again. He thrusts into her, hard. The force of it causes her to push up on her toes and he moans against her back when he sinks in. They stand like that for a moment, flush against each other, panting. Then he slips a foot between her legs, grabs her neck and bends her over. 

He fucks into her sharply, never pulling out completely. Her hands shake, there’s nothing for her to hold on to so she wraps her fingers around the edge of the sink and holds on. The strokes are so deep that she can’t catch her breath, and when his hands come up and palm both breasts she comes, silently. Mouth wide open, her entire body shakes. 

He doesn’t notice, she thinks, because he doesn’t stop. He pulls at her nipples, squeezes her breasts and mouths at the back. She can hear him chanting  _ fuck fuck fuck _ against her skin. When he pulls her back up, flush against his body, he slips a hand down to where they’re joined.

“You close?” he mouths into her neck as he works her with his cock and fingers. She can’t think, let alone respond with words. She’s on her toes, still holding onto the sink and she realizes she’s nodding. “Yeah? Let me feel it,” he says.

Then she does, she screams, toes curling against the tile and he wraps a tight arm around her middle to keep her upright as he keeps pushing into her. He keeps stroking her through her aftershocks and she’s about to pull his hand away when it snaps up to grab her breast. He squeezes, pushes her so hard against the sink that she bends and he follows, coming inside of her. He stays at her back for a moment, hand wrapped around her breast, mouth open against her neck. Her toes can barely feel the ground. 

He softens, slips out of her, and lets her down. Her legs are still shaking when she bends over to grab the towel. She pulls it around herself, then she turns to look at him. He’s zipped up, clothes in perfect order, only the thin sheen of perspiration on his face to give away what had just happened.

He steps closer, reaches a hand out, and straightens the edge of the towel hooked around her hip. 

“I think two orgasms make up for leaving you hung up the other day,” he hums but it's not a question and he doesn’t wait for her answer. He grins at her gaping expression and then he’s gone the same way he came from.

Two. 

So he hadn’t felt her second one, only her third. 

She picks up birth control the next day because she really can’t afford this many emergency pills. 

The next week passes in a blur. Annie has just about permanently moved in. Dean keeps calling, keeps asking when he can move back in. Annie keeps following her around the house and reminding her what he did. Beth wants to scream.

She volunteers to host Emma’s Girl Scout Troop’s fundraiser kick-off party on Thursday. She kicks everyone out, forces Annie to babysit for the day. She spends the entire morning doing what she does best, baking. It gives her peace she hasn’t felt in a while.

The guests begin arriving at half-past five, that’s when she remembers why she hates the PTA so much. 

She escapes the living room a few times as politely as possible. Runs back and forth to the kitchen for various things, smiles at the mom’s as she serves them - tries her best to recall most of their names. Ruby’s there, thankfully, forcing a smile just as much as she is. It’s Sara’s first year in scouts. 

When she returns to the kitchen for more napkins and maybe a shot for herself, she finds an unexpected guest picking at the leftover baked goods. 

He’s got a cookie in his hands when she walks in and he looks up at her with his mouth full.

“You made this?” He mumbles.

She should be terrified at seeing him in the kitchen with half the PTA in her living room but for some reason, all she can do is stare at his hands and the cookie he’s crumbling all over the kitchen island.

“You cannot be here right now,” she whispers. 

He stuffs another piece of the cookie into his mouth and raises a brow. Then his eyes drop to her chest and she shifts under his gaze. She’s wearing her favorite sweater, the one with the small opening at the chest. It’s black and classy, but if anyone can make it sleazy it's him with one gaze. He smirks when she shifts from one foot to the other.

“I have a house full of guests,” she says with a wave behind her. 

She almost tells him that he needs to come back another time.

_Jesus_.

He drops the cookie on the island, wipes his hands together. 

“That was good,” he says, pointing to the cookie.

“I’m serious,” she whispers. 

He’s about to say something else when Beth hears footsteps behind her. She panics, grabs his arm, and pulls. He comes, willingly. She thinks she hears him laugh.

She pulls the pantry door open, pushes him inside but before she can close the door he’s pulling her in with him. The door closes behind her and she holds her breath.

It’s dark and tight, she can feel the shelves at her back and him at her front. Whoever’s walked into the kitchen calls for her, she doesn’t recognize the voice. He laughs and her reaction is instant. With shaky hands, she reaches up and smacks a palm over his mouth. She can feel his grin beneath her palm. 

Whoever is on the other side of the door is still talking, that’s when she hears a second voice respond. 

“Oh my god,” she whines, quietly. 

He wraps a hand around her wrist and pulls it off his face. Her eyes have adjusted to the dark by now to make out his face. His eyes are wide open, lips parted slightly. He’s close enough that she can feel puffs of breath when he exhales.

“What would the PTA think if they found you in your pantry with a strange man,” he whispers, “Which one of them would wait for your husband to come back so she can tell him, hmm?” 

“My husband doesn’t live here anymore,” she snaps back in a hushed voice and then groans internally. He didn’t need to know that.

His brow shoots up.

“Trouble in paradise?” 

She rolls her eyes, ignores the question, and turns her head towards the door to listen. She can still hear shuffling and soft voices. 

Then she feels fingers at her brow as he pushes bangs out of her eyes. It’s too intimate - she considers what it would look like if she just stepped out of the pantry now after all this time of hiding inside, but she doesn’t trust that he wouldn’t follow her. 

“We could give them a show.” 

She swears he leans in closer if that’s possible. 

“Can you please - “ she’s about to beg for him to stay quiet when she feels his hands wrap around her ass and squeeze. The action pulls her off the ground for the briefest moment and flush against his body.

She’s lost her train of thought, again.

“Yes?” he murmurs. He’s grinning like he finds all of this so amusing. He looks so boyish, she hates it.

His body dips down slightly, and her eyes close because she’s pretty sure he’s about to kiss her. But his hands slide to her thighs and then she can’t feel the floor anymore. She gasps, her hands find their way to his neck as her thighs wrap around his middle. 

He holds her there for a moment, in the middle of the pantry, hands wrapped around her bottom. She opens her eyes, looks down at him, and feels her head sway forwards. Like his gravity's pulling her in. 

Then he’s moving, very slowly he shifts his body and takes a step towards the door. Her body shakes with adrenaline, she thinks he’s going to walk out with her in tow but then she feels the door at her back. He lets her slide down until she’s at eye level, then he’s kissing her. He presses into her, squeezes her thighs and licks into her mouth. It’s wet and delicious. 

He bites and kisses, squeezes her thighs in the same rhythm as his tongue lavishes her mouth. She has to pull away to take a breath, and she gasps when he bites her neck. Her head knocks back against the door and he kisses his way down the column of her throat until he’s nosing at her cleavage. 

She doesn’t realize that she’s grinding against him until he groans into her chest but the jeans she’s wearing are new and rough, and the seam is in the perfect place to make her see stars. She grinds down so hard it sends a shiver through her. 

She hears him say her name but its muffled in her chest. His grip on her thighs loosens, then she’s sliding down his body and her feet are on the ground again. She groans - not again. She was  _ so close. _

His hands fly to her jeans, he pops the button open just giving himself enough room to slip a hand down the front of her pants. She gasps, and it must be loud this time because his other hand comes up and covers her mouth. 

Then he’s touching her and she shudders. He leans his forehead against hers, his mouth almost touching the back of his hand and he slips a finger inside of her. 

“Look at me,” he whispers.

She didn’t realize her eyes had closed. 

It doesn’t take long, he knows exactly how to get her there. She shudders, cries out into his hand. He nods against her forehead, talks her through it. Tells her how wet she is, and she knows exactly how wet, can feel it inside of her jeans. She can feel the way his fingers slide.

When she stops shaking he slides his fingers out, buttons the jeans back up. She’s still panting, thinking about how loud they were but the post-orgasm high settles deeply over her. He licks his lips, wipes at her bottom lip, and then he’s reaching for the door handle. She turns around and steps out first. 

The kitchen is empty, she can hear quiet chatter from the living room. He’s at her back, she can feel the heat radiating off of him. Then he’s pushing her up against the kitchen island and he’s hard against her ass. 

“I think this means you owe me one - or two,” he mumbles into her hair and then he’s gone. He slips around the kitchen island and walks out of the back door.

_ Owe him _ \- he’s talking about orgasm, she realizes. She grabs ahold of the kitchen island, legs still wobbly. After a few deep breaths, she slips into the bathroom, fixes her makeup, and joins the ladies in the living room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rio doesn't take no for an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this update taking FOREVER. I am dead inside so that makes life a lil hard sometimes. Enjoy!

Two weeks pass after the pantry  incident without a single word from him. He doesn’t visit, he doesn’t call. Beth lives on the edge the entire first week, never able to fully exhale or relax. She spends all week expecting him to pop up in her kitchen. Every time she spies a black car drive by her spine lengthens a little more, but it's never him. By the end of the second week, Beth’s just furious. 

_ Who does he think he is? _

_ She isn’t just some girl who's going to wait at his beck and call _ . She exhales sharply, sprays the kitchen counter down with a little more force than necessary.  _ She’s a mother with real responsibilities _ , she fumes and wipes the counter. After a week of berating him in her head, she considers that maybe they’re done, that maybe she’s paid back whatever she owed. That thought quickly flies out of her head when she remembers the last time. 

_ “I think this means you owe me one - or two.” _

_ Maybe he’s just done with you, debt or not. _

She has to physically shake her head to rid herself of that train of thought. She sounds like a teenage girl and she wasn’t one even when she was one. Worst of all, she feels like one. Her heart races at every creak she hears, not from fear but giddy anticipation. She keeps her phone on hand  _ and for what,  _ she doesn't know because the only number she ever had for him doesn’t work. She knows this because she'd tried it, multiple times. It’s disconnected, the annoying robotic voice on the other side repeating the number she’d dialed is unreachable every single time.

The kitchen door creaks behind her and her heart stops. She hears it open slowly and she spins on the ball of her foot, paper towel in one hand, disinfectant cleaner in the other.

It’s Annie.

“Uh - hey, weirdo,” Annie greets her with a raised brow, eyeing the spray bottle in her hand. 

“Hi,” Beth responds quickly and turns back to the kitchen counter.

“Nice to see you too,” Annie says, closes the door behind her, and sits at the kitchen island. After a beat, she speaks again. “What’s wrong with you?”

Beth straightens, gives her a tight smile and a shake of her head.

“Nothing, just drama with the Scouts, again,” she says with an eye roll. Annie eyes her suspiciously like she doesn’t believe a word. If anyone can see through her bullshit it's Annie.

Annie leans forward across the counter with both palms flat on the surface Beth had just wiped down. Beth opens her mouth to scold her.

“What's up with your hair, and are you wearing makeup?” 

So what if she’d started her mornings lately by actually taming her hair and applying some makeup - it made her feel good, and it absolutely had nothing to do with anyone else.

“I washed it, it’s called shampoo,” Beth shrugs noncommittally. The thing about pulling off a good lie is disinterest - never be defensive, and never show too much emotion. 

Annie doesn’t buy it, she leans closer and inhales. 

“You’re wearing perfume,” she says with an accusatory tone.

She is but Beth isn’t about to admit that.

“Oh for God’s sake Annie, you cannot smell me across the room,” Beth turns away from the counter, puts more distance between them, and busies herself with the coffee cabinet.

“Are you seeing someone?” 

“What - no,” Beth laughs. Her answer comes out genuine because it is. She looks back at her sister and shakes her head, “Annie,  _ no _ \- I’m barely seeing myself through this.”

That seems to pacify Annie enough to change the subject to what a dirtbag Boomer is. Beth makes coffee, listens and nods along to her sister's story, happy that the attention has shifted from her. They drink and talk for a bit then Annie changes the topic again.

“Have you heard anything from gang-friend?” 

Beth’s response is quick and impulsive. “His name’s not gang-friend,” she says. She doesn’t look up from her coffee, she blows on the hot liquid before taking a quick sip. 

_ Defensive, and not very convincing.  _

“Oh-kay, what’s his name then?” Annie tilts her head. Her coffee is long forgotten on the tabletop next to her.

“Rio,” Beth hums into the coffee, “ - and no, not since the last time.”

The last  _ time _ is very subjective, but hey. 

“It’s just so weird that he’d cut his losses and move on,” Annie remarks. 

Beth shrugs. 

“We got lucky,” Beth replies, voice steady and face blank. She looks Annie in the eyes and doesn’t look away until Annie does when she reaches for her coffee.

“Yeah, I guess,” the younger girl hums into her mug. 

Beth can’t help but look up and through the kitchen window. The backyard is empty, quiet. No one’s coming. 

Annie notices and turns around to follow Beth’s gaze.

“What?” 

“Nothing. It’s just so quiet without the kids,” Beth murmurs. 

Annie’s eyes are soft when she looks back at Beth.

“Have you talked to Dean recently?” 

Beth shakes her head, runs the tip of her pointer finger across the top of her mug. 

“He keeps leaving me voicemails that he needs to tell me something, but I can’t - not yet,” Beth says.

“Well, he’s a liar, don’t forget that,” Annie snaps. 

Beth can hear her mumble  _ pig _ into her coffee mug. 

When Annie leaves she gives Beth a kiss on the cheek. It takes Beth by surprise. Physical displays of sisterly affection were not something that came naturally to either of them.

_ “You deserve to be happy, Beth, and you look pretty.”  _

Ten simple words and Beth’s suddenly blinking tears away. 

She loses track of how long she sits at the kitchen counter but at one point her phone rings, shocking her out of her daydreams. It’s Dean - again. She sends him to voicemail with one tap. Then she opens her messages, scrolls down until she comes to that message.  _ Outside _ . He’d texted almost four weeks ago. She’d never saved the number, that’d always felt too intimate.

_ And him coming inside of you multiple times wasn't? _

She huffs, deletes the message, and pushes her phone away. It slides across the tabletop until it hits the cup of sugar. 

Irritation twists inside of her. If he ever showed again she’d tell him exactly what she thought of this arrangement. She was done waiting, she’d decided. A flicker of anger blooms in her belly,  _ no _ , she wasn’t going to wait. She’d spent years waiting and look at where that got her. She was done waiting on men.

She jumps off the stool, fury vibrating through her body. She knew what she had to do, and she knew where she could find him. He’d mentioned a bar before, she’d heard them talking about it in her kitchen - _Lucky’s_. 

An hour later she’s downtown, parked outside of Lucky’s, the sun setting behind her. It’s early but Lucky’s seems to be open and bustling with people. Beth gives herself a final glance in her rearview mirror, ruffles her bangs in place, and runs a finger across her lower lip to soften the lipstick. She breathes through the brick in her belly and gets out of the car. 

It’s dark inside, busy but not crowded enough that she has to squeeze through people. She grasps her purse and steps forward on shaky legs. This was a bad idea, she should have had a drink before she came. She eyes the bar and scurries to the first stool she sees. She orders quickly, the bartender gives her a curious look when she requests bourbon. 

When she’s seated and feels stable enough she looks up and around. There are two men seated at the bar, both deeply engrossed in whatever they’re drinking. There’s a group of college students laughing in a booth to her right. When the bartender moves towards her with her drink she looks straight ahead at him to accept it and freezes. 

He’s there, in a booth straight ahead of her. He’s sitting with other men, discussing something that seems to trouble him because he’s frowning and shaking his head. He doesn’t see her, it's dark enough that she doesn’t particularly stand out. She accepts the drink and nods at the bartender. He’s asking her something she can't hear to which she shakes her head and then he’s gone. 

Rio still doesn't see her and she can’t stop staring. This was a bad idea, the panic is setting in slowly. She should leave, duck out before he sees her and pretend she never walked in, but she can’t move. She feels rooted in her seat, she can’t feel her legs and all she can do is raise the drink to her lips and chug. He looks  _ good _ \- dressed in black, covered in the darkness of the club. He’s unhappy, angry, and it makes his eyes flash in a way that makes her belly flutter. She’d almost forgotten this feeling, how different it felt being around him from just thinking about him. 

He’s still frowning when he shakes his head and lifts his drink. That’s when he looks up, straight ahead and directly at her. The flutter in her belly settles deep inside, the heavy beats of her pulse thumping against her ribcage. This was a bad idea. He stares at her for a beat, the drink raised halfway to his mouth. Then he takes a slow sip, eyes still locked on her. He takes a second sip, licks his lips, and sets his glass down. She can see his jaw clench from across the room.

Whoever he’s sitting with is talking again, and his eyes snap to the man. He shakes his head once and raises his hand in a dismissive wave. Beth gulps the rest of her drink down, waves the bartender down for a second and her check. By the time she grabs the barkeeps' attention and looks back to the booth, it's empty. White-hot fear rips through her. 

She wants to look around but then the bartender is back with her drink and another she didn’t order. She frowns, opens her mouth to ask but long fingers wrap around the second drink from the corner of her eye and a body slides in next to her. 

She can’t look. She can barely breathe. She raises the drink up with what she hopes is a steady hand and sips. 

“You lost, Elizabeth?” he murmurs. She can feel his eyes on her, and she has to swallow the shudder that rips through her. “Or, are you here to settle your debts?” 

She jerks her head in his direction.

“I think my  _ debts _ are well settled,” she snaps. His eyes lazily drag up from her chest to her face and he smirks. 

“Oh yeah? Then why you here?” 

She stutters, breaks his eye contact before she responds. 

“To let you know  _ that _ ,” she says, clears her throat and wants to die at how pathetic she sounds. 

He chuckles under his breath and dips his head closer. 

“Nah, see, I think you missed me,” he says. 

She scoffs, looks up at him with a roll of her eyes. He’s got a half-smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Maybe not me,” he nods in agreement, “Maybe just my cock, hm?” 

She lets out a sharp breath. No one’s ever talked to her like that, not even during sex, let alone in public. Her face burns, and she’s suddenly lost all faculty to string words together, so she just shakes her head. It’s weak but she can’t seem to catch her breath.

He reaches out and slides a finger across her brow, pushes the hair out of her face like he’d done that day in the pantry. He’s smiling, a full smile that reaches his eyes. He’s so close and she feels a familiar warmth in her belly. 

“Yeah, you did,” he muses, eyes a little glossy like he’s remembering. He slips a finger underneath her chin and lifts it gently. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’ve been busy,” he says, almost apologetically. He swipes a thumb across her bottom lip and she pulls out of his grasp with a sharp breath. 

It’s too much, they’re in public and her cheeks burn at his words and his eyes. 

“Are we settled - on what I owe?” She asks quickly. Her insides shake, and she needs to run.

He blinks softly before he lets his arm drop, then he leans back and nods slowly. She takes a steadying breath when he’s far enough away when she can’t smell him anymore. 

“We’re good, Elizabeth.”

He’s still looking at her when she grabs for her purse and slides off the stool. She opens her mouth to speak but doesn’t know what to say. It’s awkward but only for a moment, then he’s standing too and she can smell him again. 

“You know where you can find me,” he says quietly, leans into her so closely that she thinks he’s going to touch her again. Then he’s gone. She doesn’t feel her legs but they carry her out faster than she thought possible. When the cool night air hits her she gulps it down until she’s in her car. 

***

She picks up Dean’s call the following day, then he’s in her living room showing her x-rays and talking about cancer. Her mind reels. He moves back in the same week, she goes to an appointment with him and he asks her to not tell the kids just yet. She’s on autopilot for two weeks - she cries for Dean, for herself, their life. She drinks and after two weeks she slides back into her old life with far too much ease.

They go out to dinner the night before Dean is set to begin chemo - he shouldn’t drink, is what he tells her, but for old times sake, he does. She’s speaking before she realizes it, telling him about Lucky’s and he’s so desperate that he’d go with her anywhere, she thinks.

She’s already had three bourbons with dinner by the time they get there. She feels a warmth in her chest, whether from the liquor or the idea of seeing  _ him _ again she doesn’t know. Lucky’s is busy, loud, dark, and full of life. It’s so unfamiliar to her. She’s a little disoriented at first, but someone’s leading them to a table and she’s too numb to do anything but follow. 

Dean’s talking, again, she can’t hear him over the music but she nods. When he points to the menu and she mouths  _ bourbon _ at him. Her body is humming from the liquor and the music, she feels good for the first time in a while. She blinks a few times, focuses on her surroundings, and looks around. It’s so crowded, and when she looks to the back booth she finds it’s full but he’s not there. Her stomach lurches with something - disappointment, maybe. She stares into that direction for a while, then there’s a shuffle of people clearing from the bar and it’s almost like a black sea parting and then he’s  _ there _ . At the far corner of the bar, hunched over his drink. 

Dean snaps his fingers at her for attention and she tears her eyes away to look at him. He’s pointing to the drink menu and shaking his head. Beth leans in and yells her drink order. Dean frowns but nods, eyes falling back to the menu. She looks back up to the bar and her breath catches in her chest. He’s turned towards her, eyes locked on her over his shoulder, jaw clenched. Her mouth opens and she takes a deep breath. She feels a familiar flutter of something in her chest. She can hear Dean ordering but she can’t look away. She’s not sure how long she stares, but he doesn’t look away either. 

She looks back to Dean after some time, he’s nodding to the music, smiling at her. The way he looks at her, the grin he gives her, it all makes her skin crawl. She smiles back, grabs her purse, and excuses herself. She looks back to the bar, gives Rio one last look, and turns for the bathroom. She squeezes through a few groups, slips inside but doesn’t lock the door. 

She drops her purse and grabs a hold of the sink to steady her hands. She stares at herself in the mirror as the seconds pass then the doors opening and she’s holding her breath. He slips inside, closes the door but doesn’t make a move towards her. When she turns to face him he tips his head back against the door and it’s the first time she sees the tattoo in full glory, she thinks. 

His jaw muscle jumps when she steps closer.

“Lock the door,” she says, her voice so loud in the small room. She’s too far to reach the handle, but he finds it and turns the lock without breaking eye contact. She’s so close she can smell the alcohol on his breath, and him. He smells like warmth, if that had a scent, and she resists the urge to bury her face in his neck. 

When she’s close enough she slides a palm across his chest and around his neck, rises on her toes and kisses him. He responds slowly, slides an arm across her lower back, and pulls her in. She feels frantic but he kisses back in slow, lazy swipes of his tongue against her own. His lips move unhurriedly, holding her mouth open with his own a little too long until they’re sharing the same breath. He walks her backward slowly, step by step until she feels the sink against her bottom. 

He breaks the kiss and she takes a deep breath before leaning in again, but he’s not there. 

“Is that your husband outside?” His voice is low, quiet. Her eyes flutter open and she nods slowly.

His eyes flash with something familiar, something dark like she’d seen that day in the booth. He nods with her, then he pulls her off the sink, kisses her once, and spins her to face the mirror. He slides up behind her, slips his palms down her thighs, and underneath her dress. He buries his nose into her hair but keeps his eyes on her in the mirror. 

“You smell good,” he whispers into her neck and leans into her, buries his nose deeper. He palms her thighs, squeezes softly and whispers into her ear. “Spread your legs.”

She does. 

He slides a hand into the front of her panties and slips a finger into her heat. It's soft and slow, she huffs and turns her head into his. 

He gives her a sharp disapproving  _ tsk _ . “Look at me,” he instructs. 

She meets his eyes in the mirror and she can tell he’s smiling. She can’t see his mouth but it reaches his eyes. She can feel his hot breath against her neck the moment she feels his fingers spread her open. His fingers are rough and the friction is so good she can’t help but grind against his finger as he rubs soft circles around her clit. It’s too slow, he’s just playing with her. When he leans forward and slips a finger inside of her she pushes down on it again and lets out a soft breath.

That’s all he gives her for a few strokes, one finger. She pushes back against him - he’s hard, he can’t hide that. 

“Tell me what you want,” he pants into her ear. 

Bastard’s going to make her say it.

“More,” she whines, grinding down again. 

He smiles again, noses into her ear, and chuckles. “More of what?”

She reaches behind her, palms at the front of his jeans but he’s so close that she can’t reach properly.

“More of this?” He asks and slips in two fingers. It's better but not enough. She rolls her hips but not against his finger, she pushes back against the heat behind her. Her dress is thin and hiked far enough up that she can feel the rough material of his jeans against her ass. She can feel the heat radiating off of him every time he rolls his hips against her. 

“Tell me and I’ll give it to you,” he says with another hard thrust against her bottom. He’s still got two fingers inside of her and when he curls them she cries out. She can feel herself clenching and his fingers aren’t enough and she’s so empty that it hurts. 

“Fuck me, please,” she hiccups and he curses, then his fingers are gone. She squeezes her thighs, feels the slide between her legs from how wet she is. The visual of him breaking isn’t one she’ll forget in a while, she thinks. His mouth parts open, eyes drop to her ass as he unbuckles himself. He moves so fast, hikes her dress up when he rips his boxers down then he’s looking at her again. She feels him at her entrance, hard and hot, mouth wide open as he pushes in. The first stretch is tight and so good. 

Her mouth falls open and she lets out a sob when he slides in deeper. His breath is coming out in quick pants and he slides up as close to her as he can, legs spread and he bends her down with a palm across her back, eyes never leaving hers. Then he’s sliding out with a soft  _ fuck _ , the pull of her body so tight. When he thrusts back in she cries out and slides a palm against the mirror to hold herself in place. He hikes the dress up so he can wrap his fingers around her bare hips and picks up his rhythm. 

She’s bent over the sink, holding on to whatever she can find, eyes never leaving his in the mirror. It's so loud, the harsh breathing, the slap of skin on skin. The angle is so sharp, every time he pulls her onto himself her toes leave the ground for the briefest moment. She touches herself, slides her fingers around him and the action pulls a noise out of him that she’d never heard before. 

He keeps her eye contact until it’s too much until his mouth falls open and he tips his head back. It's the visual of his head thrown back, his exposed neck and the full tattoo on display that sends her over the edge. The fluttering turns into a tightness that explodes and she comes with a soft sob. He tightens his grip on her hips, his head snaps back and then he’s coming too. He thrusts forward until her hips hit the counter and he’s buried to the hilt and she feels him twitch inside of her. He doesn’t move, just stays buried as deep as he can, holds her tight against himself. 

She feels lightheaded, and her back screams so she pushes up. He’s still inside of her when she straightens, and he slides a palm across her belly. He pulls out but doesn’t step away, just crowds her against the sink. She can’t see his face but she can see the heave of his shoulders, she can see his arm moving as he zips himself up. She lets the sink run, rinses her hands in the water, grabs a paper towel. He’s not as close now but she can feel him staring at her. 

“Elizabeth.” 

_ His voice. _

She feels fingers on her hip, then he’s turning her around, gripping her chin. There’s nowhere to look but at him. He’s still breathing hard. 

Someone’s knocking on the door, it's soft, but she can hear it clearly over the steady thump of the bass outside. She shakes her head, opens her mouth to address the knocking but he’s speaking before she can.

“I’m not waiting another two weeks again,” he says with a squeeze of her chin. “Do you understand?”

She shakes her head because she has no idea what he’s saying. The knocking hasn’t stopped. 

“I’m not waiting two weeks to fuck you again,” he says, leans in and kisses her. “If I don’t see you soon I’m coming to find you,” he says the last part quietly, against her mouth. 

The knocking’s stopped, but the blood rushing through her ears is so loud she can’t focus. She shakes her head and wraps her fingers around his wrist.

“I can’t - “ 

“You can, or I will and I ain’t got a problem going through your husband.” 

She shakes a little at his words, when she doesn’t speak again he lets go of her chin and steps back. When he opens the door he gives her a sharp look before he’s gone. Whoever was waiting outside is gone too. She collects her purse with shaky hands and walks back to her husband.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rio has a bad (good) idea.

He feels the beginnings of a headache sprouting in the space right between his eyes. He hasn’t slept in thirty-six hours. His eyes keep finding Mick until the burly man snaps at him and pointedly tells him to fuck off. Mick's upper arm is bandaged, the bullet barely missing him and it’s all Rio’s fault. Rio rolls his shoulders and turns his attention to the bloody kid in front of him. 

He’s not older than twenty-five, younger than Rio was when he made a move for his territory. Except Rio was smarter than this, he made moves in his city, home turf advantage and all. This kid’s from California, and he’ll never make it back home again. At least he ain’t begging, Rio hates it when they beg. 

He nods once in Mick’s direction without taking his eyes off the kid and Mick moves instantly, hauls the kid to his feet, and to the back of the bar. When Mick and the kid are gone, Rio turns to Cisco.

“Find his boys, every last one."

This wasn't over, not by a long shot. They had to be quick and quiet. Clean house of anyone working with California but quietly enough to not bring heat after it was over.

Rio stretches, rolls the tension out of his back and takes a deep breath. This isn’t the first time someone attempted to move in on his territory and it won't be the last but every time it gets a little harder. He’s tired. He wants nothing more than a shower, a gin and hell, a woman. 

He thinks of Elizabeth, and his eyes jump to the bathroom door. What he wouldn’t give to bend her over right now, sink into her heat and let her body rid him of the past few days of stress. He thinks about his bed, thinks about what she’d look like stretched out on his bedsheets.

_ Fuck _ .

He slides out of the booth, stands, and forces himself to stop thinking. It’s late, he should go home. He digs his keys out of his pocket, tosses them into the air once, and catches them in his palm. 

_ Maybe he’ll just drive by, see if her dumb-ass husband is home.  _

_ Yeah.  _

The lights are on but he doesn’t see either of the cars in the driveway so he parks at the curb, sits in his car for a few minutes, argues with himself. It’s just pussy but here he is, driving by like a jealous girlfriend in the middle of the night when he should be getting his house in order. 

_ He’ll just try the kitchen door, see if it's open - she never remembers to lock it. _

He’d say something to her about that but suburbia seems pretty quiet and safe. 

_ Except you’re here. _

He’s right, the kitchen door’s unlocked. The lights are on, the TV’s on, everything’s on. 

He strolls inside, through the kitchen, and the foyer. She’s in the living room, sitting on the floor with a bottle of whiskey, back turned to him. He frowns, stomach twists in an all too familiar way, somethings wrong. The house is silent, except for her sniffling. 

She’s crying. 

“Elizabeth?” He can’t help himself and in hindsight, there was probably a better way to make his presence known because she screams. She screams and flails, her head spins around so fast that it makes him wince. When she looks up at him her eyes are bloodshot red and her cheeks stained. 

“I can’t do this right now,” she sniffs, rubs at her cheek, and stands. She grabs the bottle of whiskey by the neck and moves towards him.

“Why you crying?” 

She shakes her head, ignores his question, and moves to step around him. He grabs the arm holding the whiskey and it sloshes the liquor out of the bottle and onto the floor. 

“Elizabeth,” he says again, voice tight. That's when he notices the glass on the floor, a picture frame, and something else he can’t identify anymore. He looks around, spots one of the dining room chairs on the ground in the hallway, nowhere near the dining table. 

His eyes snap back to her face, he looks at her chest, eyes skimming across the skin he can see. 

“Did he touch you?” He pushes the hair over her shoulders to look at her neck. He feels a lick of fury in his belly at the thought of anyone putting their hands on her. The first man he’d ever put in the ground was his sister's scumbag boyfriend after he’d broken her jaw and he’d do it again.

She laughs dryly, pushes his hand away from her neck. “He’s not man enough to touch me.”

He looks at her, then, really looks at her. She’s so soft, pink all over but behind the tears and smeared makeup her eyes glimmer with fury. She’s shaking from anger, not fear, he realizes. It pulls something unfamiliar in his belly, overwhelms him with a feeling he can’t put words to. 

Her chin quivers and fresh tears pool at her eyes. 

“He took the kids,” she says quietly. Rio frowns, shakes his head in confusion.

Elizabeth lets out a shaky breath, blinks the tears away before she speaks again.

“I found out he’s been lying about having cancer, so I lost it,” she says with a wave to the glass scattered across the floor. “I kicked him out and he took the kids with him. I can’t fight him for custody, I have no money, I don't even have a job,” she says with a hiccup. “He’s going to win, no judge is going to give me custody, I have nothing - “

“Come work for me,” he blurts it out before he realizes when he’s saying. 

She stammers, and looks up at him, eyes as wide as saucers.

A moment of silence passes between them before she speaks again.

“What?”

“Come work for me,” he repeats, voice too casual.

“Doing what?” She asks quietly.

“Nothing I can give you a W2 for,” he says with a grin. “But money won’t be an issue,” he grabs her chin and lifts her head up. “Now, stop crying,” he says but it’s soft, there’s no bite in his words. He squeeze her chin, and runs a finger down the column of her throat before he lets his hand drop. 

She blinks like she’s considering his proposal then she frowns. Her lips part like she has a question but she doesn’t speak.

“What?” He grunts. He forgets how difficult this woman can be, always got something to say.

Her eyes drop down for the briefest moment and she blushes, deep red and not from crying. 

“Is this a job or an arrangement?” She whispers, eyes glowing and he knows what she’s asking but he wants to hear her say it. 

“Ask what you really wanna know, Elizabeth,” he pushes, steps closer and places a foot right next to her own sock-clad one. He runs his fingers up her arm and wraps his hand around her bicep.

She can’t do it, can’t form the words he can see on her parted lips. She shakes her head at him, purses her lips so he takes pity on her.

“No, I don’t wanna fuck you for money,” he says. “I wanna fuck you  _ and _ give you money.”

Her cheeks redden even more, if possible. 

“Give me money for  _ work _ ,” she clarifies for him.

He laughs, nods. 

“Whatever you say,” he hears the words leave his mouth and they sound strange coming from him but he can’t seem to stop himself. 

She sniffles but doesn’t argue with him. He grabs the bottle out of her hand and takes a sip, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. She’s wearing pajamas, a soft button-down and matching sleep pants. 

He reaches out with a finger and pops the first button of her top open. She doesn’t make a move to stop him so he unhooks another and another, until the shirt gapes open. He groans at the visual, and palms a bra covered breast in his palm. This, this he can do - this is what he knows with her.

“If I remember right, I think you owe me,” he brags jokingly and pulls his hand back. 

She shakes her head, grabs his hand, and holds it to her chest.

“That was before,” she says with a soft exhale and pushes his palm against herself harder. “Doesn’t count now, we’re starting fresh.”

He chuckles, and thumbs at her nipple softly.

“Is that right?” 

She nods and fists a palm into his jacket, tugs him closer. He slips a few fingers into the cup of her bra and rolls the nub. She moans softly, her hand still covering his, squeezing herself in a rhythm of her own creation. Her cheeks are pink, eyes closed and mouth open. 

He walks her back slowly until she hits the edge of the kitchen counter and then he kisses her. He slips a hand around her neck and tilts her head just right. She tastes like whiskey, and she kisses him back fervently. 

He pushes against her, doesn’t give her much room to maneuver and when kissing isn’t enough she drops her hand from his and palms him through his jeans. He breaks the kiss quickly, pulls back and takes a deep, stuttering breath. He hasn’t touched himself since he saw her last and he can already feel his balls tighten. 

He grabs her hand and pulls her off of him with a shake of his head. 

“What?” She asks quietly. 

He takes another breath, kisses her and slips a hand into her pajama pants. She’s warm, and wet, and so soft. He thinks about sliding into her and dips one finger in, then another. It doesn't take long to get her off, she trembles against him, head buried in his chest.

“That’s one,” he mumbles into her neck, fingers still inside of her. She wants to snap back with something clever but her thighs are shaking and she has to focus on standing upright. 

She’s about to tell him where her bedroom is when his phone rings. He grunts and pulls his hand out of her pants. He slowly untangles himself from her, steps back a foot but she’s still got a hand on his jacket and she hardens her hold on him. He pulls out his phone, doesn’t bother checking the caller ID before he answers.

“What?” He grunts into the mouthpiece. She watches him closely, the post-orgasm high finally clearing from her mind. He’s frowning. That's when she realizes how tired he looks, how pronounced and dark the skin under his eyes is. He doesn’t make a move to pull away from her, instead, he leans into her, catches himself on the kitchen counter with his other hand. 

“No, I want it done tonight,” he instructs whoever is on the other side of the call. He continues humming into the phone so Beth leans forwards and kisses his jaw. He lets out a sharp breath, the hand on the kitchen counter snaps to her face. He doesn’t make a move to push her away, just slides his fingers into her hair and holds her close. 

“When?” He barks out, a little agitated. She kisses him again, dips her head beneath his jaw and kisses the edge of the tattoo. He lets out another breath, she continues. She pulls at his jacket, and he steps into her, slides his hand to the back of her head until they’re standing in a hug. She wraps her hands around his middle, runs her palms up and down his back, head buried in his neck.

He smells like the outside world, smoke, a hint of cologne. She runs her hands up his back, digs her fingers into the tight muscle. He’s coiled tight, she can hear it in his voice, feel it in his body. She noses into his clavicle as he keeps talking, lets her hands slip between their bodies. The hand in her hair tightens when she grabs for his belt buckle. 

“No,” he snaps into the phone and she briefly wonders if that’s for her or the poor schmuck on the other side of the line. She doesn’t ask, instead, she unbuckles the belt and pops the button of his jeans open. He lets her.

She smiles into his neck, can’t help but squeeze her thighs at the pressure growing between her legs. When she’s got his jeans open she slips a hand inside and pulls her face out of his neck. His mouth is open, brows furrowed but he doesn’t speak. She wraps her hand around him, strokes him softly, watches for his reaction. He spreads his legs wider, lets out a sharp breath. Another stroke, tighter this time, and his hips flex.

“I want it done tonight,” he growls. She slides her palm to cup his balls and he pulls the mouthpiece away from his mouth, grunts again. “Elizabeth,” he warns and she throbs. There’s no way that whoever's on the phone didn’t just hear him. She palms his balls again, tugs on them lightly and he grinds against her. 

The hand in her hair holds her tight, fingers scratching at her scalp so deliciously it gives her goosebumps. She strokes him from base to tip, rubs her palm over the head. He’s wet. He meets her strokes in tow, hips thrusting hard into her palm. 

“Is that it?” He asks the caller. He keeps fucking into her hand, hips moving harshly with each stroke of her hand. She pulls at his jeans with her other hand, gets them down to his knees. Tugs his boxers off too just to see. He follows her gaze, swallows another grunt at the visual. “Finish it tonight, you understand?” He snaps.

The noise of what they’re doing is so loud, the wetness of his cock sliding in and out of her hand so specific that there’s absolutely no way this could sound like anything but what it is. She cups his balls with her other hand, rolls the soft, tight sac and then he’s coming. She sees his phone clatter across the kitchen counter and then he’s spurting into her hand with a grunt. The hand in her hair pulls her roughly and he kisses her, slips his tongue between her lips as she milks him through his orgasm. 

“And now we’re even,” she says against his lips, doesn’t let him go until he begins to soften in her hand. 

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just breathes deeply to catch his breath. 

“Can you stay?” she asks when he reaches for his boxers.

“Do you want me to?” 

She nods and pulls at his jacket. She’s so wired, body hot everywhere but something in her gut twists at the sight of him. He looks tired.

“When was the last time you slept?”

He pulls his pants up but doesn’t bother with the buckle. He shakes his head at her question. She doesn’t prod. 

She pushes at his chest, wriggles free from between him and the counter. When she turns for the hallway she looks behind her once to make sure he’s following. He does. 

He follows her to her bedroom, watches as she pulls the covers back and slips her pajamas off until she’s only in her panties and bra. She doesn’t sleep in the nude usually, not with a house full of nosy kids, but right now she wants nothing more than to feel him against her bare skin. The house is too quiet, too empty, there’s no way that she could fall asleep without feeling someone next to her.

She gets into bed and he follows, undresses until he’s only in his boxers and joins her under the covers. He doesn’t realize how tired he is until his head hits the pillow, until she slides against him and pulls his arm between her breasts. They sleep until his phone wakes them early the next morning. 

He’s still exhausted but Mick’s voice telling him everything is taken care of lets him finally exhale. He wraps up the call, drops his phone on the nightstand, and turns back to look at Elizabeth. Her eyes are closed, but she’s awake. He can tell by the way she’s breathing, by the way her nipples strain against the thin material of the bra, tight and pink. 

He pulls the thin sheet at her waist until her entire body is exposed to him. He slides a palm across her middle and she twists into him, a smile breaking across her face. He runs his fingers up her ribs and he squeals softly.

“Ticklish?” He asks into her neck and she huffs. He slides the same palm across her belly, into her panties and her legs fall open. He strokes her softly, and when he feels her start to tremble he slips his hand out with a laugh and doesn’t let her come.

She cries his name, grabs his wrist, and opens her eyes.

“I don’t wanna rack up the score,” he says smugly and sits upon his knees. “Wanna make sure you can keep up.” He tugs at her panties with a smile. She helps him, lifts off the bed briefly so he can slide them off. He crawls between her legs, kisses up her belly, to her sternum.

“You’re full of shit,” she says, gasps when he finally pushes into her body. It’s slow, lazy. He laughs into her neck, grinds slowly into her. She moans, arches into his thrusts, begs him to go faster. 

“Easy,” he grunts, pulls one of her knees up and raises himself up above her. “Look at you, so worked up.” 

The angle drives him deeper and pulls out a stifled moan from her. She lifts her head up, wraps a hand around his bicep and tries to look between their bodies. She wants to see where he disappears into her, but he doesn't let her because he kisses her. She clenches around him and he breaks out of the kiss with a grunt.

She does it again.

He grunts her name and she laughs.

“What was that about being worked up?” She says with a smug smile but he doesn’t respond. He squeezes her thigh, drives into her harder and her head falls back into the pillow. She comes with a sob, thighs shaking in his grip. 

He fucks her through her orgasm, whispers dirty words in her ear. Tells her he can feel her coming on his cock and she digs her nails into his arms. He buries his head in her chest when he comes, pants against her collarbone as he empties into her. 

She slides a hand around his neck, holds him to her chest as he catches his breath. He softens, pulls out with a hiss and lies next to her. 

His phone rings again but he doesn’t make a move to answer it.

She turns on her stomach, and he can’t help but slide a palm across her back until it settles on her ass. She’s so pale, so soft.

“So,” she says, voice muffled by the pillow, eyes closed. Her arms are tucked under the pillow, breasts pressed against the mattress and he feels his balls tighten. Her cheeks are still pink. He has to force his eyes up to her face. “What kind of work are we talking about, boss,” she says nonchalantly and his brain derails. 

_ Boss.  _

_ Fuck.  _

This was a bad idea.

Her eyes flutter open after a moment of silence, after he doesn’t answer. He needs to take his hands off of her, put his pants on, get a drip. But she raises herself up on her elbow and arches a brow at him. 

He pulls his hand back, flexes his fingers. 

“You got a passport, mami?” 

She blushes, he’s not sure if it's because of the nickname or the way he can’t help his eyes as they drift over her full cleavage on display. Whatever the reason is, he wants to see more. 

She frowns, then answers hesitantly. 

“Yes, why?” 

He smiles, licks his lips and lies back. This is a bad idea but for some reason he can’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! Thanks for reading :)


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